


Rose Colored Glasses

by harrilly



Category: 1D - Fandom, Harry Styles - Fandom, One Direction, harry edward styles - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 10:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrilly/pseuds/harrilly
Summary: Rose Rule #42:Make a wish at every red light.***Zara Nelson is doing okay. Her boyfriend has just dumped her and her late grandmother has left her nothing but an old rule book and an unfinished bucket list.When she meets Harry Styles, a 24-hour bookstore owner, she decides she wants to be more than just okay. And he decides he'd like to help her.Together the two follow each other around New York City, checking off task after task. From Brooklyn Bridge sunsets to Central Park yoga, Zara and Harry find more than they had ever imagined.





	Rose Colored Glasses

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO!! this is my first time writing something like this.. so it may be a train wreck. Please let me know if u like it/want me to continue !!!!! :)

"This is absolutely, without a doubt the worst thing that has ever happened to me." Parker is sitting on my bed chipping away her nail polish. The worst thing that's ever happened to her isn't actually happening to her. It's happening to me.

Exactly one week ago, my boyfriend of three years kicked me out of his apartment. It is technically his apartment and he is technically sleeping with his ex-girlfriend. Surprise! So I am now technically homeless, living on the couch of my best friends' apartment.

My mother called me six times this morning. She wants me to come home and stay there until I can find myself an apartment of my own. Home is the Upper West Side, a spacious penthouse that she bought once I moved out. Home is the reason I moved out so quickly. Home is not really home, but instead a bunch of nicely decorated rooms that are never really used. 

I haven't seen my father since the funeral, a month ago. He deposits money into my bank account every Tuesday morning, and that is the extent of our relationship. He was never good with feelings but was always good with money. Something my ex-boyfriend could say about himself as well.

My brother has a loft in Brooklyn, because he's so cool now. We talk everyday. And by that I mean, he talks about his great cool amazing new life and I... listen. Jason and I are the overly emotional children of two cold, loveless millionaires. Alright fine, we talked several times a day.  

Parker, my best friend, has an apartment in Brooklyn as well. It isn't nearly as nice as Jason's, but it does have a nice living room which has a nice couch. Which is where I live now. 

"I'm sorry," I say as I'm grabbing her spare set of keys. Class starts in 25 minutes and I now live 30 minutes away. I have already accepted my truant fate. "But I am not going to those parties anymore. Not if there's a chance I could see them."

Them is my ex-boyfriend and his awful ex-girlfriend/awful new-girlfriend. His name is Huge Piece of Shit, but most people call him Kyle. And her name is Shiny Hair but most people call her Madison. I hate them both and have vengeful murderous dreams about them every night.

But I'm over it!

"Those parties are so big. There's no chance we'll see them." But even as Parker says this, she knows she's wrong.

 

I was dumped exactly one week ago today. I have accidentally run into Shiny Hair and Piece of Shit three times since then. Three times. We live in New York City, in different boroughs, and I've seen them accidentally... three times. 

So I've decided: if there is a God, she definitely hates me.

"Lets talk about this later? When I get home. I'm gonna be late!" I yell this last part from outside of the apartment door as I rush down the stairs. 

Kyle's apartment was two blocks away from where I went to school. It was big, and expensive and I love it. Over the years I have grown accustomed to waking up thirty minutes before class and still making it on time. Now that I live so far away, I am late to everything. 

When I was young I would to take my families town car everywhere. And the past few years I've spent in school I have used Uber. The subway was not something I did. Which, as a Native New Yorker, was sacrilege. 

This past Monday I spent all day on the subway. I told Parker it was to learn how to use it, which was true. She thought it was to distract myself from the break up. And yeah, maybe the subway has no cell service so I don't have to worry about staring at my phone all day, waiting for a call. That was just a coincidence though, honestly. 

After an entire five hours of traveling from Queens to Coney Island, I am a pro. Or, well, I am okay at it. Just okay. 

No more Uber for me! Because, lets face it, Uber in NYC was primarily for tourists and drunk people. Which I, sadly?/thankfully?, was neither. 

I am standing on the subway platform trying to ignore the rat that is running across the tracks. I am not bothered by rats, or smells, or anything else New York has to offer. I thought I was for a long time. But now I'm starting to realize that I only hated that stuff because my mother told me I did.

I feel very close to my grandmother when I ride the subway. At at tall 5'2, Grandma Rose rod the subway until her very last day on Earth. She rode from Queens to the Village every Thursday afternoon to meet with me for lunch. She insisted on taking the subway because she loved it so much. Sometimes Jason and I would joke that she was half woman, half subway rat. 

*** 

"Wow! Zara? Is that you? You look so different! I haven't seen you in years!" This is Tony and he hasn't seen me since last week. "Do you even remember me?"

Tony and I are in charge of our schools stand up comedy club. We had ironically, and lazily, decided to name the club The Comedy Club. We created the club during our freshman year when we realized that we were the funniest people we knew and wanted the entire world to know it.

Tony and I would be madly in love with each other if we weren't madly in love with ourselves instead. 

"Shut up," I say as I set my bag onto the table. We have a small office on the fourteenth floor of our Student Activities building. All we do in this office is listen to Carly Rae Jepsen and talk shit. Absolutely no work gets done here. 

Tony was the only university friend that had stayed in contact with me even after I started dating Kyle, the Piece of Shit. This was partly because we were forced to talk to each other while running the club. And partly because he didn't know anyone else who loved Carly Rae Jepsen as much as I did. 

Kyle was (and still very much is) a piece of shit, hence his name. But we were in love. Or some weird, shitty form of adoration that I mistook for love for an entire three years. When I moved in with him, he became my whole life. I rarely went out with friends, I stopped doing things I loved. If it wasn't with Kyle or about Kyle, I didn't care. 

The only non-Kyle part of my life I didn't completely abandon was The Comedy Club. I stayed involved with the behind the scenes set up because I knew it was good for the resume. (And I, don't tell him this) truly love Tony's company. Now that Kyle is gone, I have nothing left but this stupid club. And I'm grateful for it. 

"Okay, lets get to work." Tony says as he turns the volume up and Carly's voice takes us away.

***

"ZARA IS THAT YOU?" Parker screams from the shower when I open the front door.

"No," I say as I flop onto the couch/my home. 

It is a Friday night, which means Parker is getting ready to go out. I haven't gone out with her like this since I moved in with Kyle. I forgot how serious she took her weekly ritual.

She comes into the living room in just a towel, "start getting ready." It is not a question, or a request even, but a command. 

I'm not going to tell her this, but I sort of forget how to get ready. Obviously I know how to do the basics. Brush teeth, comb hair. But I haven't worn a full face of makeup in months. I don't even think I own a little black dress anymore. 

"Okay!" I say from the couch pillow. "Will do!" I have no intention of moving from this spot. 

And I didn't. Not until Parker came out in a tight red dress and freshly curled hair. "Hey! Hey! Get! Up!" She screams this into her red solo cup while nudging me off of the couch. 

I brushed my teeth and combed my hair and put on one of Parker's houtfits (ho-outfits, of course). I used to love this part of going out. The eyelashes and the lipsticks and the heels. I had forgotten all of that over the years. I had forgotten how to be myself.

***

It is almost 4 AM and the party is still going strong. I might've forgotten how much I love getting ready to go out but I could never forget how much I love actually being out. Kyle hated clubs, so we usually went to quiet bars with his friends. And I loved it because I loved him, or so I thought.

But what I really loved was dancing with Parker under colorful lights. And getting free drinks from creepy guys at the bar. And flipping my hair over my shoulder in attempts to look hot (yet probably looking idiotic). Another thing I could never stop loving is the drunk McDonalds trips we take at the end of every Friday night. 

"I had fun! I had so much fun!" I am slurring a little bit over my French fries and I'm sure my makeup is smeared. 

Parker smiles and nods to her burger. She looks like an angel here in this McDonalds and I almost cry at the sight of her. Crying is almost all I do when I am drunk.

"Okay, we have to get home. I'm so fucking tired." She is still staring at the burger as she says this. "Lets Uber!" But we don't Uber because we are true New Yorkers and we love the subway!

Or more realistically, because both of our phones are dead. 

The New York City subway is another world at 4 AM. It is filled with drunk assholes like us, lingering night owls, sleeping homeless people and most likely a serial killer or two. 

We are the drunk assholes on our train. 

Parker is sitting, or more accurately, laying on the blue seats of this 2 Train. I am standing against a pole when the subway makes a quick, loud stop. This is nothing new for the creaky, miserable MTA trains. Everyone is used to this.

Nonetheless I, in my drunken state, fall flat on my ass. I momentarily think about laying here until I'm drunk anymore. And because she's an asshole, and my best friend, Parker just looks down at me from her seat and laughs. And I laugh too, very hard, because I guess I'm an asshole like her.

I stay on the very very dirty ground as the train passes station after station. I am sitting on the ground partly because it is funny and partly because I am way too drunk to stand up. I try to ignore the people that are watching me. Some are pitiful, some confused, some just as drunk as me. 

Whatever, who cares. Considering all that has happened to me in the past few days, this seems like nothing. What's the subway floor to a girl who suddenly has no home and no friends and no life?

"Do you need help?"

I halfway turn around to see a guy sitting two seats away. He was wearing all black, with ink going up both arms. He is very cute, and I think he knows it. Hell, I'm drunk as shit and I know it.

"No," I lie. "Okay, yes I lied." I put my hand out to him and he smiles at me before grabbing it. His teeth are a little crooked and I think I want to kiss him.

I'm drunk, okay?

He pulls me to my feet as the subway stops at another station. I smile at him once we are face to face. Well, he's tall so it was more like face to chest. "Thank you, sir." I don't know why I said sir. Maybe because I hadn't realized how cute he was and I got nervous? Or maybe because I'm drunk? Probably both!

He gave me a small laugh and I realize that my hand is still in his. Neither of us pull away, even as the train closes its doors and begins moving again.

"Zara, this next stop is ours." Parker says this from behind me. She is most likely not paying attention to what's going on. Or she is and I can't tell because I can't really focus on anything other than his hand. Calloused and warm and big and cute. Everything about him is so... cute.

"You're cute," I say. Good one, Zara.

"I'm Harry," he corrects me and I laugh. It is an easy laugh, one I forgot I had.

"Hi Harry, I'm Zara." I say, hand still in his. "Could I have your number?" I have never asked for a guys number before. Even before Kyle, I was never the type of girl who talked to guys first. Because I didn't have to (haha, or because I was too nervous to!).

He nods and I take out my phone. I click the home button four times and nothing happens. I look at him as if to say what the fuck? and then I realize, it's dead. Way to go Zara, you're so good at this. "It's dead," I frown. 

"Do you have a pen?" He asks, returning my frown. 

The train is slowing as I rummage through the receipts and candy wrappers in my purse. It seems like receipts and candy wrappers are the only thing I keep in my purse. I can hear Parker calling me but I won't get off this train without his number. 

"Here!" I hold the black pen up, triumphant. "Here," I give it to him. 

I'm sad when he lets go of my hand but delighted when he picks up my wrist. Quickly, in squiggly writing he leaves his number on my skin. "Here," he says back to me. The train is at a full stop now. He's holding his breathing in anticipation, as is Parker, as is the homeless man watching from the corner. 

Actually, it might just be me holding my breath. 

"Keep it," I say smiling down at my wrist. Parker is now dragging me off the train but I barely notice. I can't feel anything but those 10 letters and my blushing cheeks. 

"What was that?" I faintly hear her ask once we are on the platform. The train speeds back into the dark night, loud and fast. Just like the heartbeat in my ears. 

I trace the numbers withy my finger tips and smile harder than I have in three years. Harry x, it says underneath the letters.

Rose Rule #18  
If someone inks your skin, you will be bonded for life. 

Down on the tracks, a rat runs by quickly and quietly. Some part of me thinks it's my Grandma. Letting me know that everything is going to be okay.


End file.
